


Caught In An Alien Romance

by Josenka



Series: Dragon Ball Dysfunctional Domesticity [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Awkward Romance, Bad Puns, Dirty Talk, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Martial Arts, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Obsessive Behavior, Passion Thing, Saiyan Culture, Shapeshifting, World Domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josenka/pseuds/Josenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amid their "passion thing", while he's still on Earth, Bulma coaxes Vegeta into celebrating Martial Arts Day where they will watch videos of past World Martial Arts Tournaments in which Goku/Kakarot loses. And there will be food, too. Plenty of food for a Saiyan. Also: Krillin's sarcasm; Yamcha's broken heart; Oolong and Master Roshi being dirty old men; Mr Satan pimping the world's strongest cars; and impish plans to take over the universe with the Three Wish Dragon Balls!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught In An Alien Romance

**Author's Note:**

> The Dragon Ball Universe is huge. Enormous. Gargantuan. It has its own Wiki, too! Even with that Wiki's help, nothing here's ever going to be certified 100% Canon™ because interpretation, speculation and invention. And omission of Dragon Ball GT and Super et al. It's all silly fun, taking place between Frieza and Android Sagas, after Future Trunks has brought his warning. There're also several references to the Tournament Saga, the second arc of the Dragon Ball Without the Z series.

**ONE**

During the midnight hour, three pairs of feet trespassed onto the Capsule Corporation Complex outside West City and Capsulopolis. One pair belonged to someone tall, another to someone small and yet another to someone really, really small. These three peeped through every window. They peeped through every keyhole. They even peeped through all those teensy-weensy spaces, those places between door and floor. They sought and they searched every odd, offbeat nook, cranny and niche. Finally, prowling into a highly restricted zone-- _CAUTION:_ _HAZARDOUS SUBSTANCES STORED HERE!_ \--they came upon a window of transparent plasteel, rupturing with radioactive brightness. The really, really small one stood on the shoulders of the small one who stood on the shoulders of the tall one who stood on the ground. A blue, noseless face pressed against the window, peering at the oblivious duo who dwelled within.

“At last, I’ve found her!” the really, really small one squealed. “We’ll have to wait for her to be alone. Now, remember, you two will grab her and gag her. Then she'll build me a new radar for these new Dragon Balls that’ll give me wishes. _THREE WISHES!_ ”

“Master, if there’s three of them,” the small one in the middle mumbled, “then can’t Mai and me each have a wish?”

“What’s that!?” the really, really small one stomped his itty-bitty feet. “You want a wish? I’ll give you one: you’ll wish I hadn’t punished you!”

 _“NO!”_ the small one howled and the tall one bawled  _“NOT THAT!”_ They cringed and they twinged, destabilizing the living extension ladder for the really, really small one. The tall one toppled and the small one tumbled from her shoulders. The really, really small one plopped atop them, his eyes glittering with the lights of a thousand galaxies.

* * *

**TWO**

His Mightiness, Crown Fist of All Saiyans, Prince Vegeta, of House Leaffi, son of King Vegeta XVI, son of Prince Kayel the Clenched Jaw, son of King Spinatzo III the Knucklehearted, son of Prince Vegeta of the Bloodied Boot, heard laughter as he exited the gravity chamber. He had become too accustomed to this maddening sound, this sound often deployed to mock and scorn him. Its current source lounged among gadgetry obsolete on developed planets but it had to suffice here, here on a world with infant space capabilities; and said source amused herself by reading from the ultimate information compendium of this world, this Internet. _A damn inefficient use of her time._ She had described it as an old information web where facts and fallacies became trapped and entangled. And lots of visuals that dirty old man drooled over until his input board short-circuited.

Vegeta glanced sidelong at her outlay screen. It was decorated by the primary logographic script of this planet, one which he had deigned to learn during that humiliating week he was waylaid by exercise and explosions in 400G. She scrolled through sundries on insignificant Earthlings, stopping where red and pink oversized symbols declared: _BULMA BRIEFS AND HERCULE SATAN TO MARRY?_ She tittered like a short-circuiting machine, reading whatever these furnishers of falsehoods put forth for barely sentient Earthlings.

Those who had whispered lies about his mother had been honored to have their skulls smashed by her two fingers halved in combat with Cumkuats. Elites on this planet were denied such recourse due to gentle laws. _Just like Tuffles._ Bul--that--that woman, she was of superior status on this world, a doctor with a score of titles, like her father, although no one ever addressed her properly. By improbable happenstance, Kakarot had mated with the daughter of a king, a petty king with nothing but a mountain, but a king nonetheless _._ These two humans struck others with impunity, so, he had concluded, doctors and the kin of kings were accorded at least one practical privilege.

“Oh, Vegeta!” that woman shouted. “Are you reading what the tabloids say about me?”

“Hmph,” he snorted, turning his face from her taunting grin. “Absolute rubbish.”

“It’s the burden of being the most eligible bachelorette on Earth,” she elaborated. “People are fascinated by a gorgeous genius who's the richest woman in the world.” There, it was again, this money thing. He heard about it incessantly from Earthlings. It weakened them, depending on this strength-sapping substance.

“Hmph.” He glared sideways at her. “You should be reinforcing the graviton generators for me.”

“Naaahhhhh!” Her tongue stuck out. “I installed a new antiquark quantumplex inhibitor so I won’t have to.” His facial muscles twitched. “Oh, Vegeta, are you smiling?”

 _“NOOOO!”_ Blood surged at light speed to his head. _“I AM NOT!”_

“Ah, you’re absolutely adorable when you smile.”

 _How many times must I tell her?_ “Saiyans aren’t adorable.” He spurned her ridiculous grin, used in this Earth game called flirting which disallowed fists. “I’m getting a snack.”

“Keep it small!” she shouted as he strode away. “I’ve had to cash in two percent of my Capsule stock to cover your food bill.”

 _Her and her damnable money!_ Did she forget Saiyans took whatever they needed whenever they wanted? Whenever he choose he could rip her to ribbons and smash her to smithereens! He left her to her vile diversions. Outside he sensed three ludicrously low energy levels; it must be scar-faced fighter and his lackeys again. But, before he dispensed with them, he needed a snack. _A big snack!_

* * *

** THREE **

“Master, he’s gone!” the tall one called to the small one and the really, really small one. “He’s finally gone!”

“Then get in there, you nitwits!” the really, really small one bellowed with all the might of his little lungs. “Get in there, get in there!”

“Yes, Master!” The tall one pushed and pulled on the door. She towed and tugged, shoved and yanked, pounded, punched and pummeled. But she had not the strength to stir the thing. “Shu, come help!” The small one scurried, in an incredible hurry, to add his muscle to the tussle. Together, they whacked and walloped, thumped and thwacked, huffing and heaving all the while like dinosaurs at Satan Fit and Fight. “Master, please, help us!”

“Me, help you? I’m an Emperor, not a minion!” the really, really small one yelled. “You’re not using all your strength. Push, asshats, push!”

* * *

** FOUR **

_Hthwck!_ “Owwwahhh!” Bulma screeched. “Damn it, Vegeta!” His powerful elbow had whacked her midsection. But it was the risk of sharing a bed with the sexiest Saiyan in the universe. _But it’s so worth it!_ Waking him to complain would be to no avail since he hibernated like a bear during every slumber spell. Unless one yelled _“Look, Goku’s here!”_ as Oolong had three days ago; he had yet to return to the Capsule Complex, having been tossed by Vegeta in an arc through the stratosphere when Goku was not really there.

She crawled from bed in search of discarded clothes. Slivers of designer duds sprawled from door to bed, torn by lustful extraterrestrial teeth. Among the detritus lay her medical capsule with synthetic Senzu (since Korin would never have enough beans). This classified and experimental drug would restore her halfway if she swallowed twenty pills, but she only took ten to avoid adverse side effects: burping, hiccups, drooling and nosebleeds. She would be functional, with her fatigue attributed to upkeeping gravity devices for the temperamental prince. If anyone discovered her energy was sapped by terrifying but electrifying orgasms with Vegeta...

 _Yamcha would try to murder him again._ Bulma believed her ex-boyfriend had attempted it last week. He had come to observe how well Vegeta trained in 200G and-- _oops!_ \--accidentally raised the level to the current sustainable maximum of 600G before he fled to parts unknown. Vegeta had sense to cease training shenanigans with laser-beamed drones so the room did not explode. He was still indignant about it, having had been seen shuffling about like a wizened old man by Mom when bringing home-baked treats to her favorite prince. Bulma had installed voice control so only Vegeta, Dad and herself could alter gravity in the idle spaceship. _I’ll kill him if he takes it without asking me._

Vegeta mumbled something in his sleep about Kakarot. At times it annoyed Bulma how obsessed he was with surpassing Goku, training twelve to fourteen hours per day so his blackhole-hued hair would burn like a white-yellow dwarf star. But at least he had ambition. _Unlike that date-challenged jerk._ Lately Yamcha sulked about like a stereotypical teenager, muttering about first dates having no sequels no matter what he did, be it dinner and bowling or opera and ice skating.  _How do Saiyans court?_ She imagined it was rife with violence. He swore again at Kakarot in alien languages. She would never inquire into his nightmares, embarrassed by her own with frogs.

Bulma swallowed her searched for pills. She would wait ten to fifteen minutes while the aches in her innards dulled. She suspected Chi Chi had fewer problems after copulating with her Saiyan; her latest power level averaged 109 and she was trained (and still trained) in martial arts so likely she could endure pulsating pleasure without seismic screams.Bulma would spend more time in the gravity room; being in close proximity to it, making infinite repairs and upgrades, had already raised it from 14 to 33 in six months. Vegeta had commended her for doubling her power level...and it would quadruple if she trained rather than waste time on those wastrels she called friends. _It’s so cute how he wants to spend more time together._

But she also needed to entice Vegeta from his stinky training hideout; the robo-scrubbers would need a whole day to expunge the stench of Saiyan sweat which she smelled everywhere. Showing off the wonders of the world would only bore someone who had traveled to thousands of planets. She had pillaged and plundered her brain for ideas. When it seemed her genius had at least encountered a problem it could not surmount, Oolong had mentioned Martial Arts Day was soon. Revelation had even led her to embrace him, calling him _“such a smart wittle piggy-wiggly”_ ; triumph fled when he shat his pants since she had uttered the so-called enchanted word, turning him into a stinky little piggy-wiggy.

And now she really, really needed to abandon the spaceship lest Dad, Mom or anyone suspected she kept company with the proud Prince of All Saiyans.

* * *

** FIVE **

Tiny fists pommeled the tall one and the small one into consciousness. “Wake up, you ninnies!” They struggled awake, unable to stretch cramped limbs in their sanctuary: a trash can. “How dare you fall asleep when my hour of glory is at hand!”

“But--but--but, Master,” the small one sputtered, “we’ve barely slept in two days.”

“You can sleep after I’ve made my wishes,” the really, really small one huffed. “Now fetch me Bulma or fetch me breakfast!”

“But, Master,” the tall one mumbled, rubbing bloodshot eyes, “those laser-beamed drones’ll detect us if we’re outside your camou-shield’s range.”

“I don’t care!” the really, really small one stomped, arms waggling like little eels. “I want breakfast and I want it now!”

* * *

**SIX**

Kick, block, punch. Kick, block, punch. Kick, block, punch. Repeat two thousand times at 325G.

“You’re doing this only one percent slower than at 300G!”

 _It needs to be zero._ He would not discourage her cheerful mien. With her intuitive technological abilities, she was the most useful lifeform (and amiable to the eyes compared to other pitiful Earthlings) on this primitive rock. Her parents were useful, too, contributing to his training to surpass Super Saiyan scum. Especially her mother, a maker and molder of foods called scrumptious. These parents accorded him due respect, as much as unmannered beings on this rock could. And their daughter infuriated him with her total lack of tact and courtesy. _My father would’ve beheaded underlings like her with his spiral chop._ How he had fallen, living among these weaklings who did not even recognize him as His Mightiness, Prince of All Saiyans.

But this was temporary. Until he was harder, better, faster, stronger. Until he was a Super Saiyan, too. Until he defeated Kakarot in a battle to the death. Then, and only then, could he be the ultimate warrior in the universe. Immortal, too, thanks to the Dragon Balls, with none of those Z Fighters objecting to his desire since he was the strongest.  _And worthy to be eternal emperor of a million galaxies._ Those petty, insignificant earthling who aided him in exile would have their names enshrined; but future historians would have no time to study his youth when they struggled to chronicle his legendary conquests. Until then he was here, waiting for Androids to attack Amembo Island.

 _Who the fuck was that future Super Saiyan?_ Perhaps he was a half-Saiyan, born from a defective fighter (like his banished brother Tarble) in exile, who had traveled to Earth for training from His Mightiness. Bulma--that woman, she had speculated there were nanoscopic conditions on this planet favorably influencing Saiyan biochemistry. There had been no Super Saiyans for three thousand years on Planet Vegeta. But those who resided on Earth-- _even for a few months!_ \--amplified their potential. _A year here ought to ensure my transformation._

“You’ve adapted well, as always,” she cheered him again from behind plasteel glass, her body too weak to even walk in 100G. “You’re three-fourths a percent slower now.” Her optimism stung. But only sometimes. It reminded him of Kakarot, his un-Saiyanlike demeanor, smiling stupidly as he mindlessly ambled through life without intellect until he fought. An abomination like him, without royal lineage (from King Vegeta I the Victorious and Queen Lentila the Slugger), would have been left to die in the desert on Planet Vegeta in olden times, not consigned to a robo nursery for low class brawlers. “Oh, we’re celebrating Martial Arts Day tomorrow.”

 _Another one already?_ “How many holidays do you Earthlings have?” These occasions were worthless, save for their special foods. _Maybe they’ll have bratwurst again._ Saiyans only celebrated the day they overthrew the Tuffles for Planet Vegeta.

“There’s always one somewhere on the planet,” she answered. “It varies by country, religion and so on. Like yesterday was Planet Panties Day. No one I know celebrates it but Master Roshi and Oolong.” It must be truly worthless if dirty old man and pervy piggy commemorated it. “You’ll enjoy Martial Arts Day.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“We watch videos from old World Martial Arts Tournaments,” she smiled. “There’re memorable fights. Legendary ones! I’ll never forget watching Goku be defeated by Jackie Chun and Tien Shinhan.”

 _This could be highly amusing._ He suppressed his instinctive grin. “Will there be food?”

“There’ll be a massive smorgasbord of delights!” He did not know what this “smorgasbord” was, and he would not deign to ask, but it would be most informative to study Kakarot in his youth. “And Mom’s making marzipan for you again.”

Pangs of anticipation thrummed his stomach. “Come scrub my back tonight.” He had discovered her supremely useful in bath and shower. _And in bed._ He smiled. But it was too speedy for ordinary eyes to discern.

* * *

** SEVEN **

The sun battered down like tickle torture devices on quarter speed. Beneath an old, hefty hover car they hid, evading high-flying drones from frying their asses again; feeding the really, really small one was dangerous work, fulfilling his demands for miso, sashimi and green-jellied and peanut-buttered toadstool sandwiches with Mooey Kalientay sauce. The tall one and the small one hoped and prayed no drones detected the roaring snores of the small sleeper.

“Mai,” the small one whispered, “we’ve been waiting three whole days for Bulma to be alone.”

“I know, Shu,” the tall one sighed. “It’s almost feels like three years.”

“Well, at least we know she’s not marrying Hercule Satan.”

“We could get a million zeni for this scoop.”

“And get the Emperor an incredible birthday gift, too.”

“Hey, doesn’t her boyfriend look a little like Goku?”

“Goku!?” the really, really small one screeched, stirring form slumber, leaping onto his feet. “Retreat!"

“Master, he’s not here.”

“You woke me from a marvelous dream!” The really, really small one slapped them both with almost zero force. “I was emperor of the universe!” His tiny tummy rumbled. “Now I’m hungry. Get me lunch!”

* * *

** EIGHT **

Exhilaration enraptured her. _He’s coming!_ Finally, at last, willingly for half a day, Vegeta would holiday from training himself into oblivion. The gravity chamber would receive its overdue ultra-cleaning. And he would do something other than eat, kick, punch, eat, punch, kick, eat, fuck, snack, sleep. Still, he had woken early, before dawn, to train for four hours. _Stupid, stubborn Saiyan!_ But, perhaps, there was no rest for the wicked.

Bulma had ornamented herself for the occasion. Crimson minidress by Couwe Taure: Z35,000. Oxstone chain belt by Fa Shin: Z10,000. Studded black stiletto heels by Mo Da: Z45,000. _As if he’ll notice._ But her enhanced beauty would spite that loser Yamcha who had attached himself to cross-eyed, snaggletoothed Miss Orange Star City. _Doremi Fasola is such a stupid name._ During every visit he interrogated her about helping a hot, murderous mess who would callously kill them all if Goku left Earth. _No one but me realizes how Vegeta’s mellowed out; he wouldn't destroy anyone but Goku, and that'd be in a battle to the death._  Leaving morbid thoughts, she took a final look in her full length mirror: “Bulma, you’re a gorgeous genius!”

She floated from bedroom to kitchen. He would be coming soon. She hoped he had allotted himself time to shower because the strong scent of his sweat could arouse her. Well, no, it would. _Always._ Especially when it dripped from muscles gleaming with incredible strength. _Such wondrous power he has in a single finger._ And how he had squealed when she tickled his feet! This (re)discovered Saiyan weak--

“Why’re you giggling?” She shrieked. By the Great Dragon, she had totally forgotten about her guests! And here was the suspendered pig, lacy old granny panties on his head, returning from wherever Vegeta had thrown him.

“Oolong, don’t sneak up on me!”

“You know, I’m a very lucky pig,” he grinned. “Vegeta’s throw landed me in a North City underwear factory. I’ve got dozens of designer crotchless panties now! Would you like a pair to wear for Yamcha?” She covered her flushing face with both hands. “You know, it’d sure help you win him back.”

“You’re such a fucking sicko!” she snarled through clenched teeth. “One more word about panties from you and I’ll say that word. Pig--”

“No, please, don’t!”

“--geta!” she laughed. “I don’t want you stinking up the place.” She lightly pinched his flopping ears. “Why don’t you go get yourself ice cream? There’re fourteen flavors.”

“Only fourteen?”

“I got eight liters of your favorite.” She playfully clobbered his head with her fist. “Pickle-peppered pumpernickel papaya sounds disgusting. Like you.” He snorted. “Even Vegeta won’t eat that. And I thought Saiyans ate anything!”

“Well well, who’s Bulma dressed to impress?” That damn Krillin, always sneaking up on her too! She swirled to behold his mischievous smile, its shininess only outshone by his shirt with tropical flowers. “Does his name rhyme with Yum-yum-yum-cha?”

“Shut up!” She felt her face reddening to match her dress. “I don’t want that two-timing bastard!” Krillin snickered as he sashayed by her, likely in search of food like all these freeloaders. _I really need more female friends._ This herd of hungry perverts never failed to exasperate her with prepubescent humor. Vegeta did not indulge such vulgarities; perhaps it was beneath Saiyan princes, adhering to their own code of alien chivalry. _Or another way of him being sweet!_

She sensed his presence approaching. _Dynamic intra-dimensional electro-magnetic mesmerization._ That is what she named this sensation which seemed to have a radius of seven meters. She wondered if it was like detecting ki from other lifeforms. She felt nothing reverberating from Krillin whose power level was the highest among humankind. Perhaps Vegeta could enlighten her...

"Ah, Vegeta!" She swerved to behold his scowl. _He'd be told to smile If he were a women._ “Thanks for being here!” He was clad in tight, expandable training gear (which really did expand to, uh, accommodate certain things), ready to resume his self-improvement program at any nanosecond. But he did not smell his Saiyan smell, the smell that kindled her loins, at such a high intensity.  _Am I the only one who smells it?_ She smacked her forehead. “Damn!” _Sex pheromones! Why hadn't I thought of this before?_  Perhaps a Saiyan woman would know it meant he found her desirable and she would not ask pesky question about " _these feeling things"_ like humans did. "Problem solved!" Vegeta glared at her, his glaring stare employed when Earthlings befuddled him. “Oh, yes, there’s plenty of food.”

“I can smell it,” he replied in deadpan. “You look--”

_Yes, yes, say it!_

“--look strange.” That was it? Oh, well, this observation was better than nothing from a spurner of tittle-tattle.

* * *

** NINE **

The tall one and the small one cowered in a cupboard that stunk of super stinky spices; they were forced to fight against gags, coughs and sneezes lest they be exposed and discovered. It had been the nearest place to hide when trespassers infringed upon their raid. After the garbage disposal ceased its gargantuan gargle, they cracked the cupboard door open to see if the really, really small one had evaded refrigerator raiders. Outside the ones named Yamcha and Krillin lurked, filling bowls and plates from a gargantuan buffet.

“What was that blue blob in the freezer?” Krillin asked. “It looked like it was alive.”

Yamcha shrugged. “Probably some delicacy for Mister Super Saiyan.”

“That’s _Prince_ Super Saiyan,” Krillin laughed.  “Whatever it was, I threw it in the waste bin.”

At last, when the room was emptied of enemies, the tall one and the small one rushed to the garbage disposal. They unscrewed the indestructible cork; clinging to it was the really, really small one, shaking and shivering in sliced and slivered clothing. They speedily set him down and cleaned him off.

“You abandoned me!” the really, really small one roared. “But I’ve discovered a new means of punishing you!” The tall one and the small one gulped.

* * *

**TEN**

Too many of these beings she dubbed friends were in attendance. There was bald fighter, capable in combat, but possessed of abominable style, clad today in a loathsome flower-themed shirt. _Wouldn’t Earthlings call it fugly?_ Conceited scar-faced fighter came, too, an arrogant fool who, apparently, she had “dumped” many times, an experience inferred to be most unpleasant. If scar-faced fighter was here then so, too, was that whiny, whingy floating cat. Pudgy tail-chopper was present as well, defiling food with stubby, greasy fingers which Vegeta had intended to eat. _What was it she had called him, sleuth or sloth?_ It wasted energy to account for the remaining two: dirty old man and pervy piggy (apt names she called them); one was reputed to have been the most powerful fighter on Earth (until Kakarot trained beneath him) and the other to have saved this paltry planet when he wished for underwear from the Dragon Shenlong.

“Hey, Krillin,” scar-faced fighter yelled, “where’re Tien and Chiaoztu?”

“You know them,” short bald fighter offered his ever irksome smile. “Tien won’t come unless Chiaoztu wants to and Chiaoztu won’t come unless Tien wants to.” She laughed along with them about three-eyed fighter and doll-sized fighter (he was twin to a doll she had been given by a grandmother named Girdel). They were unexceptional warriors, barely passable at best, but three-eyed fighter had defeated Kakarot long ago. And their size disparity, it creeped Vegeta out. Were they like, um, like a “thing” like that “thing” she had once had with scar-faced fighter? No one ever said and he would never ask. "Oh, and Launch couldn't come since she's got a severe cold."

"Imagine her blonde side getting in a fight with Vegeta!"

Over their continuing laughter, their third-rate, primitive entertainment device trumpeted atrocious noise. _“SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY SALES AT SATAN’S AUTO RANCH!”_ A human buffoon materialized on screen, punching cars, kicking cars, lifting cars. _“Y'ALL KNOW ME AS THE STRONGEST MAN ON EARTH. AND I’VE CORRALED THE STRONGEST CARS ON EARTH FOR Y’ALL!”_ Female beings squealed around the big-toothed flamboyant fop as he flexed hairy arms. _“NOW Y’ALL COME ON DOWN TO THE BIG ROUNDUP AT SATAN’S AUTO RANCH IN ORANGE STAR CITY, OFF EXIT SIX-SIX-SIX ON THE GEHENA HIGHWAY.”_

“I hate that guy!” scar-faced yelled, throwing rice balls at the televising device, squandering food like an ill-mannered Saiyan. “He called me-- _ME!_ \--a weak ass wimpus while I was out with Doremi. And then, that idiot, he asked her on a date!”

“You don’t say?” short bald fighter snickered. “Did she say yes?” She, that woman, pierced his foot with the pointed heel of her anomalous shoe. He winced and reddened, but let loose no obnoxious pain noises like a proper warrior.

It was not at all like caterwauling scar-faced fighter. _“SHE DID!”_ His cries intensified, causing Saiyan ears to ache.

“Shut him up!” Vegeta shouted. “I didn’t come here to listen to this.” These Earthlings hushed, as was proper when commanded by His Mightiness. “Get him another ‘date’ so he’ll cease this racket.”

“That’ll be easy,” bald fighter smirked. “He’s got a few hundred ladies on Martial Artist Mingle eager to meet Yum-yum-yum-cha.” Scar-faced sniffed, repressing sobs, and his friends offered him sappy platitudes, especially that floating cat. All save Bulma, that woman, who stood aside, eyes rolled and arms crossed. "Don't lose hope, Yamcha. You've had better luck with ladies than me."

“Can we hurry up?” dirty, old pervert emitted that disgusting sound of his. “Heh, I want to watch Ranfan fight.”

“Yes, let’s get to that!” pervy piggy cheered. “Too bad we don’t have recordings of the wonderful view I had during qualifiers.” His pink head was clobbered by double fists, wielded with sizable force for an untrained human. He toppled to the floor, two carmine lumps, sized like onions, swelling from impacts sites. “It was only a joke!”

She reverted her pathetically normal power level. “You know what happens when you mention that around me.” She straightened her disturbed clothing. “It’s time we remember how adorable Krillin used to be.” Bald fighter flushed with redness in what these humans called “blushing”. How had he ever been this adorable thing, this word she utilized to describe Saiyan stubbornness?

* * *

** ELEVEN **

The tall one and the small one hung like slaughtered carcasses in the ice-encrusted cavern, chilled like the slabs surrounding them. They were cold. Too cold. Way too cold. Even their teeth would not chatter. They shivered, but said shivers were slowing as third degree frostbite devoured them.

“Well well, my minions,” the really, really small one cackled, draped in luxury furs, “have you had sufficient punishment? Or have you become gluttons for it?” Mouths moved, but no words bounded from numbed tongues. “I’ll give you ten more minutes.” He turned his back to them. “And you better have a plan by then. Or else!” By then their eyelids would be sealed shut.

* * *

** TWELVE **

Bulma eyed him several times per minute. Aloof of Earthlings, Vegeta brooded, gobbling dish after dish, radiating boredom while they watched the 21st World Martial Arts Tournament quarterfinals begin. He emitted his trademark _“Hmph!”_ after cute little Krillin defeated Bactarian. Chomping halted when Yamcha strutted onto the screen. He smirked when the ex-bandit failed to land his signature Wolf Fang Fist. Saiyan smirk metamorphosed into smug grin when Yamcha blew out of the ring without his opponent needing to physically strike him.

“Heh,” Master Roshi laughed, “isn’t that Jackie Chun amazingly handsome?”

“It looks like he’s wearing a wig to me,” Krillin teased. “And I should know, being bald myself.”

“Oh, we know you shave your head,” Yamcha retorted. “And other unmentionable places, eh?”

"Heh," Master Roshi nodded, "I prefer a good wax myself."

Bulma shook her head. _They’d be even more pervy if I wished them into women; they'd compare more than their bra sizes._ More salacious comments followed as Nam fought Ranfan and Master Roshi suffered multiple nosebleeds. Vegeta abandoned his ice cream binge to observe Goku and Garin; he spoke, too, uttering _“What the hell!?”_ when Goku regrew his tail during that match. The semifinals arrived, Krillin versus Jackie Chun, where kicks and punches became unrecordable for cameras. Vegeta exhibited interest until Krillin threw underwear into the ring.

“This planet,” the Saiyan seethed, “has too many of these--these perverts.” Everyone laughed, save Bulma, who was becoming fatigued by oodles of lechery.

“You’re right about that,” Krillin nodded knowingly. “Dirty magazines were the only way I got Master Roshi to train me.”

Bulma squeezed her fists. “You mean he wouldn’t train you and Goku until you brought him a pretty girl for a date.” _Thankfully Launch made life difficult for that dirty old man._

“You mean,” Oolong laughed, “a pretty girl like this?” All eyes beheld the shapeshifter in the guise of a short, squat Bulma blob dressed as a sex bunny.

Rice flew across the room, splattering objects and Earthlings alike. “What--what--what the hell is that!?” Vegeta sputtered, oversized eyes bulging, as Oolong performed a seductive waddle.

“Get out of that form!” Bulma roared, feeling herself burn crimson. “Or I’ll say the word. Pig--” A grotesque bunny became a puffy cloud and a puffy cloud became a suspendered pig. “--goku!” Oolong lumbered from the scene. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To get a beer.”

"Hey," Yajirobe paused from from his binge, “get me some. And sake, too."

"Heh, don't forget me!" Master Roshi shouted. “I’m getting mighty thirsty.” Of course he had, having drooled over Ranfan and a dirty magazine he had smuggled here, _Nude Yoga Monthly_. “Hurry up or you’ll miss Goku and Nam.”

“You can just pause it, you know, like when I take a nap.”

And so it was paused and the beer it was fetched. During this reprieve, with non-gentlemen distracted, she tiptoed toward Vegeta. “There’s just two more matches, both with Goku.” She laughed uneasily. He glared at her, that glare of aggravation. And supreme impatience. “Remember, he’s defeated in the finale.”

“You’ve told me several times.” He crossed his arms, chopsticks still in hand. “Just flash forward to the damn match.” A full-toothed, bloodthirsty smile rippled across his face, like when he jabbered about besting Kakarot into gory gobbets. “Now, woman, can you get me more giant eggrolls?” How it nettled and needled her to be addressed like a servant! There were robo busboy in abundance at the Capsule Complex to fetch and carry such things. But he was asking, as politely as he was able, rather than ordering with all the pomposity of a Saiyan prince, so she dispatched a busboy to pick more up from the Greasy Noodle.

* * *

** THIRTEEN **

In an oven, large enough to roast a dinosaur, they defrosted, the tall one and the small one. They had long, long ago forgotten their spell in the ice-encrusted cavern, where blood had congealed in their veins, thickening and blackening. Now they were at risk for fourth-degree burns for failing to concoct a means of snatching Bulma.

“Shu,” the tall one shouted, bouncing from foot to foot, “do you think we’re goners this time?”

“I think so,” the small one replied. “My fur’s about to fry.”

“Maybe we should've just nabbed Bulma and her boyfriend.”

The oven doors unfurled, admitting the really, really small one in a flame retardant suit. “You’re lucky, a divine voice just gave me an idea.” His eyes twinkled impishly. “We’ll capture Bulma and that man she’s always with!” The tall one and the small one exchanged glances, knowing it unwise to contradict him while he cackled about world, er, universal domination.

* * *

** FOURTEEN **

Vegeta yawned. The semi-final with Kakarot had ended. It had been mind-numbingly dull. _Like brawling with Saibamen._ It would have been an ideal interlude to test his new attack until this so-called legendary match commenced, if he had not been savoring this strange ice cream labeled pickle-peppered pumpernickel papaya. _Is this the special food for Martial Arts Day?_ He licked the last of it from a spoon misshapened by his strength.

Suddenly something squealed. _“WHO ATE MY ICE CREAM?”_ It was pervy piggy. He was loud, but not loud enough to wake tail-chopper from his nap among beer cans. “Bulma, you said you had eight liters of it!”

“Hmm, did I?” she appeared puzzled, as these Earthlings were want to do. “I don’t remember.”

“Don’t play innocent with me,” pervy piggy growled. “You’re always defending the hungry prince.” Vegeta foresaw him receiving another drubbing.

“No, I really don’t remember.”

"Whatever."

Sensing a large power level approaching, Vegeta pulverized his spoon. _Kakarot!?_ Instinctively, his power level skyrocketed, fueled by fury. He was ready to splinter those so-called everlasting windows when it landed there, outside, within his view. It was the son of Kakarot. _That boy needs a proper Saiyan name._ Of course said name needed to be low class like Betrutz or Rutabagtu or Parsnitz because he was training to be a scholar of history. _Perhaps he'll be the first to chronicle my immortal reign_. So had this mongrel come to mock him about not being a Super Saiyan yet?

“Bulma!” Holy Super Saiyan, the boy was already here, inside, having dashed within while Vegeta diverted himself with idle thought, a vulnerability in battle. The boy cartwheeled around, dressed much like pointy-eared (or green) fighter, ridiculous booties included. “I’m here for Martial Arts Day!”

“Heh, Gohan,” dirty old man opened his mouth, “you’re just in time to watch Goku and the handsome Jackie Chun.”

"But not as handsome as little Goku," Bulma smiled at the boy. “How’d you get the day off from training anyway?

“I got off from studying, too!” the boy laughed in a manner similar to his dimwitted father. “Mom’s taken Dad on a date for their anniversary.” Ah, so, even the illustrious Kakarot had to suffer these date things!

“What about Piccolo?”

“He’s training at the southern ice cap.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll warm the place up with his personality,” bald fighter snickered. "You're giving off some very strong vibes."

"My Dad says it's still not as strong as Mom's when she wants me to study." Uh, more curséd laughter! Must these Earthlings have to titter and sniggle about everything? They were thrice as loud when alcohol was involved.

And so, Vegeta focused on the fight. Residual noises of stupidity disappeared, blibbity-blabbity unable to pierce his trance. Little Kakarot opened with an aerial attack, ably deflected by a kick from his old, odd-haired opponent; it seemed the Saiyan had been hurled from the arena but, no, there he hovered, eluding a humiliating defeat. _How lame,_ _saved by the tail._ Kamehamehas and double and triple after-images followed. The old fighter teetered and staggered around, employing a style scar-faced fighter called Legendary Drunken Master. Finally, at last, the fight revved up: _Kakarot was about to be struck by an electric charge!_

But that woman had to pinch his cheeks. “Before the real fighting begins, you need to know something: Master Roshi is Jackie Chun.” Dirty old man was the opponent? Impossible! His power level was a lame, pathetic 139. “Ah, are you catatonic now?” She slowly pushed his jaw back into place.

The match mounted in amusement: _Kakarot was transforming into an oozaru!_ So how had dirty old man triumph over this? Vegeta sensed battle bloodlust throb in his veins and tingle in his muscles. It blazed like solar flares, setting his skin alight with prickles, kindling embers deep within. Biceps clenched. Punching ecstasy coagulating in his hands. He clamped down his urge to gasp, lowering his power level. Body becalmed, the cacophony of Earthlings returned to his ears.

"I've wondered," bald fighter babbled with pervy piggy, “is Vegeta’s hanging around Earth cause he hearts Kakarot?” They laughed. And they laughed at him!

 _Hearts Kakarot!?_ He did not understand what this “hearting” was. But he knew when insults were lobbed at him, the Prince of All Saiyans. And honor was at stake! _“I DO NOT HEART KAKAROT!”_ That silenced tweeting, tittering weaklings. But they gawked up at him instead of bowing or kowtowing. Even Bulma. _“HMPH!”_ He departed from this lot of louts with more important things to do. Like, say, train. 

* * *

** FIFTEEN **

Hurriedly, leaving drunken fighters to their dumb jokes, before the sun slipped away, Bulma searched for Vegeta in his usual haunts. She experienced no dynamic intra-dimensional electro-magnetic mesmerization wherever she wandered in the Briefs private zone. The longer she looked the more she feared her hypothesis true: he had fled elsewhere to train. _Why can’t he tell me just fucking once when he’s flying off?_ Seeping motivation to disprove her doubts, she plodded back to the spaceship, senses spiraling like soused martial artists. One more check there and that was it. Really, she meant it. This time. _And for all time!_ She did not need that stupid, stubborn Saiyan. No, she needed someone who--

“Ahhhh!” She tripped, landing on hands and knees in the grass.  _These damn shoes!_ They were too wobbly and she--she had tumbled over Vegeta, having not detected his presence. _Is it because he's no longer interested in us?_ He laid on the grass, hands resting behind his head. She sat up, staring at his. “I thought you’d flown off.”

He sat up, too, eyes avoiding hers. “What does this ‘hearting’ mean?”

Really, she could kill Krillin for saying that, that Vegeta hearted Goku. They both knew what they hearted, these stubborn Saiyans, food and fighting, a desire imprinted in their DNA, their _raison d’être_. “It means you really, really like someone or something.”

“Hmph.” His pause was of long duration, time enough for the sun to die and stars to crown the purple-black sky. “Do you ‘heart’ someone?”

Her jaw dangled open, a gaping maw, struggling for words. Any-fucking-words. “I--I--I--I--I--”

“Did you ‘heart’ that two-timing, boob-brained, dumb-assed, egotistical jerk and asshat?”

“I--I--I did,” she laughed awkwardly. _He's certainly remembered things I've called Yamcha._ “And now I--I--I heart someone else.” She sounded so stupid, as stupid as she did when she first discussed this love phenomena with Yamcha.  _And I hope he's not planning to eliminate romantic rivals._ “I--I--I know you’ll be taking your training to space, sooner or later, so--so you don’t destroy Earth with your first super transformation.” Yes, that totally would deflect from further inquiry into hearting! '“But--but whenever you're near this solar system, you’re welcome to stay here.”

"My time on this planet hasn’t been a waste." He leaned closer so her nostrils inhaled it, a blossoming upsurge of Saiyan sweat. “Bulma,” he spoke her name, “I'll visit you again.” Their lips entwined, brawling in an untitled struggle. Tongues sparred, parrying and lunging, but never retreating. His calloused hands brushed through her hair, gently, as if he feared he would crack her skull. She fondled his manhood forcefully, eliciting pleasured gurgles. His large hands lowered to twist and squash her nipples; they splayed across her breast, squeezing as zings of ecstasy zoomed up her throat. “Bul--”

“Now get them!” An electrified net shrouded them, hissing in anticipation of resistance. As if they were insects to fry. The silhouettes of a canine man and a female human lurked near, silent, as an impish shape came to the forefront with an old-fashioned ruffle around his neck. “Try to fight my net,” it cackled, “and you’ll experience 20,000 volts of my wrath!”

“Really, Pilaf, you're still around?”

“That’s _Emperor_ Pilaf to you!” the blue imp screamed. “And I will be Universal Emperor once you lead me to the Three Wish Dragon Balls.” He clucked with maniacal laughter like a typical comic villain. “And for my first wish, I'll ask for Goku to be destroyed!”

"Those Dragon Balls are no longer on Earth."

"Silence, wench!"

"Destroy Goku?" Vegeta ripped the net, untroubled by fizzing, sizzling bolts prickling him like honeybees. “That privilege belongs to me.”

_“RETREAT!”_

Smirking, Vegeta leapt to his feet. He snatched Pilaf, choking him so he became bluer and bluer. The Saiyan electrified the imp with his own energy, generating thunderous screams and squeals. Satisfied, he tossed him, dispatching him in an arc that would peak above the atmosphere. Mai and Shu froze, agog and agape, their emperor thwarted again. They thawed when Vegeta tossed a fiery frisbee their way. They fled with preternatural speed in the direction of their master, stalked by a small disk of destruction.

“Hmph.” The prince crossed his arms. “Such pests! I should’ve crushed them with my boot.”

“Perhaps next time?” Bulma glimpsed heavenward to the Great Dragon constellation. “They’ve tried numerous times to destroy Goku and me,” she reminisced, “ever since we first sought out Dragon Balls. I wanted to wish for a boyfriend, but I ended up with Yamcha instead.”

“How many hours is this story going to take?”

Her hands clapped. “Quite a few!” She restored her eyes to him, a handsome warrior prince that was hers. _For a little awhile._ She sighed. _Why must I like vain and arrogant men with so much wanderlust?_ “But maybe, knowing more, you’ll discern a weakness in Goku.”

“Then tell me,” he grinned. “But do it after we’ve done more of that kissing thing."

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fanfic is for fun, not profit. Unless The author gets ahold of seven Dragon Balls. Then it's a #1 Bestseller Short Story for five years.


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